Accismus
by PetitChat
Summary: Sasuke does not see how much he is loved.


_**A****ccismus  
><strong>__**O****f a man in love  
><strong>_

Orochimaru sits near the window, peering down at the street below. A stack of books lay on the table before him, one opened precisely down the middle.

He waits, staring down at the sidewalk that leads to the front door.

He stares.

The library is silent at this time of the day but he knows it will fill up gradually now that school is over for the day. College students can already be seen walking up to the door, bags heavy with mid-term study.

He waits.

His mind is still. He has no doubt that the boy will come, somewhere between 4:13 and 4:20. Once he had arrived at 4:23. The man had never once lived a more frightening three minutes in his life.

He looks at his watch, one hand systematically turning the page of the book he has not read. 4:10…only three minutes to wait.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. He doesn't look up. He knows it's not him. Its two students grudgingly making their way to the fiction section, searching for a book they were meant to have finished weeks ago.

Their appearance does not bother him in the slightest. On the contrary, the more people occupying the fifth floor, the better the chances that he will be able to watch him with little trouble.

He looks back out the window. 4:15…any minute now.

Of course, before Orochimaru had met him, he hadn't very much enjoyed the arrival of obnoxious students on the fifth floor. He had chosen that floor precisely for its silence. The library only existed for the large college right across the street from it. Students rarely felt the need to explore the fifth floor fiction section when they had mountains of assignments due. In consequence, Orochimaru had chosen the fifth floor as his silent haven.

He hadn't expected someone else to do the same.

He turns the page as he looks back out the window. He spots a shock of shadow across the street and his heart leaps in his throat.

4:16… The boy is waiting for the light to turn green. The man is as well.

He curses the light and squints to get a better view. The best moments are when the boy is coming and leaving. During those brief seconds, he can watch without pretend.

He feels bliss.

Everything began two months ago. The man can remember it like it was yesterday; sitting in that very same chair; reading the very same books, only with more interest. That was the day he had seen _him_ for the first time.

Since that day, he hasn't seen anyone else.

The boy is crossing the street now, coming closer to the front door with every step. Orochimaru's mind works fast to register everything his eyes see, works to memorize every detail. Once he's gone, it will be all he will be left with until next the day.

His desperate eyes trace the boy's face, his body and it's _ecstasy_. He can feel the boiling blood pound against his eardrums and his stomach stir.

He has to remind himself to remain seated and look aimlessly out the window.

But _God_ it's so difficult. That boy's breathtaking.

Every surface on the young body is made to fit his. Of this, he is certain.

The gentle slope, the delicate curve of the boy's shoulder is molded to fit his wandering hands. The boy's neck is unknowingly awaiting his tender bites. The boy's legs, pale and lithe, are ready to coil around his waist and buckle under his authority. His unsmiling lips will curl against his. The boy's large black eyes will reflect the hunger in his gaze.

That boy is made for him.

That boy is _his_.

He disappears from view and is now five floors down, right under Orochimaru.

He shivers.

He sits and waits, relishing at the thought of every step, every silent footfall that brings him closer to the staircase, closer to _him_.

It had taken him a long time to be able to perceive that sound. The boy is always so quiet, so careful. He never makes the unnecessary raucous the other students make.

There it is: the scrapping of the boy's heel against the cool metal steps, his weightless feet bringing him closer. The sound is so feeble, the man half-heartedly wonders if it is just his imagination. Perhaps he is so eager to have his senses grasp the boy's existence he makes up the sound of his footsteps…

He waits, trembling.

_There_.

The boy appears at the top of the staircase. At the sight of him, chaos irrupts in Orochimaru's mind. It's like heroin in his veins and he begins to wonder if he might die, poisoned by that beautiful body.

The boy's dark eyes scan the room in one brief movement, lingering on him like a lover's kiss. And then he's gone, disappearing behind a tall bookshelf.

It is like the air is being pulled out of his grasp.

Orochimaru waits, patiently turning the pages and licking his lips.

His eyes travel to the tall bookshelf every-so-often. He knows he should be careful. He knows what he's doing isn't normal.

But he knows that this boy isn't normal either. How can he be when he had been created specifically for his own joy?

He turns the page.

Dark eyes appear once more, this time closer than before. They scan the room again, almost as if they are searching for someone. They do not land on the man, this time.

The boy walks along the shelf but does not wander too close.

Sometimes, the boy scratches the back of his neck as if he too can feel the electricity between them, like an annoying itch crawling under his skin.

Orochimaru waits.

He stares.

He adores.

He worships.

The boy picks a book and sits at an empty table. He glances furtively over his shoulder but only sees a man passively reading a book in silence.

The boy does not see duct tape in the man's briefcase or the bottle of chloroform in his pocket.

He does not see how much he is loved.


End file.
